


Banner of the Bull

by man_with_a_face



Series: Banner of the Bull-Left Permanently Unfinished [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, But everyones a wreck so if its not angst what is it, But it’s in a dream, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, I tried to believe it wasnt, and not at all graphic, fair warning, like major amounts, teeth pulling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2020-11-22 07:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20870276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/man_with_a_face/pseuds/man_with_a_face
Summary: Nine years after the Battle for Hoover Dam, the Burned Man and the Ghost of the Mojave have found peace in the Commonwealth. They live in relative peace, trying to forget their pasts and right what wrongs they've done. Then, a broadcast over Radio Freedom:"Scouts of an unknown raider group were spotted outside the Sanctuary Hills settlement. They wore red football gear and skirts, as well as carrying a banner of a bull. Stay safe out there, and be aware of these new raiders."





	1. Memories Buried

It is still strange to me, this rain and walking on roads without the hot crunch of sand and a scorching, angry sun. Farms can be ran here without pipelines, no need for fear of nighttime frost and nightstalkers. Food here is more plentiful than back in the Mojave, and less radioactive, so long as it is prepared correctly.

Joshua compares this place to the quietness of his scriptures, and I compare it to the peace in Zion following the aftermath of the White Legs.

Our homestead is quiet, and one of the few not sides with or dependent on the Minutemen. We like them, approve of them, but have a shared dislike for taking sides. We grow carrots and razorgrain and corn, and trade with other settlements when we can.

Latin is no longer “Legion tongue” to us, and flows as easy as English. Joshua no longer checks his guns each day, or week, or sometimes month. We are not complacent, but happy, peaceful, even.

On hot summer nights when we run low on cigarettes and I crave sweet Mojave agave or peyote, it makes me miss what I could have had if I hadn’t been a courier. If I hadn’t lived, become the Ghost of the Mojave. Joshua always seems to have some kind of scripture on him then, the kind that will cure my funk and make me question even the stars.

Its one of those quiet, nostalgic, regretful nights when the broadcast plays. Joshua is reading his scripture with the radio on on the porch, and I’m smoking while staring at the darkening sky.

The Radio Freedom announcer easily drones on with the daily news- some raiders around Hangman’s Alley, another artillery built at The Castle, another trade route cutting through, reminders to stay safe. He pauses, which jerks my attention to the broadcast. Radio Freedom is always constant noise, jangly folk music with quick news, until the long broadcast at the end of the day. And then, hesitantly: “Folks, I’m not sure how important this is, but I just got news from Sanctuary Hills... one moment, please... so... ‘Scouts of an unknown raider group were spotted outside the Sanctuary Hills settlement. They wore red football gear and skirts, as well as carrying a banner of a bull.’ Okay... sounds a bit dangerous, folks. Stay safe out there, and be aware of these new raiders.”

Oh, fuck.

Joshua freezes mid page turn, burned fingers tightening and softly crinkling the thin, fragile paper. I lean over the table slowly, stub out my cigarette. Then softly, in Latin, Joshua whispers. “Was... that broadcast...?”

I nod sharply, cold adrenaline and terror washing over me in sharp waves. I can feel my heart wrench in my chest, time slow down with the sharp thud of my heart against my rib cage. In my tunnel vision, Joshua warps. My scars burn at tingle at thoughts of the Legion, throat constricting as I think of the collars and the whips.

Then, I breath, dig my fingers into the hard wood of my chair, feel a splinter dig into my hand.

”We-we need to get to Sanctuary Hills, Joshua.”


	2. Pilgrimage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travel to Sanctuary

We decide to start traveling that night, despite how tired we are, despite all the added difficulties. The Legion should be dead. It should have died with Caesar, with that brain tumor we all knew he had. It should have died with Lanius, _The Butcher_, because of his wild ways and dangerous attitudes. His loyalties all lied with Caesar, never once did they fall in line with Legion ideology. I keep thinking these things, running the scenarios through my head, and I can tell Joshua is the same way. How does a beast dying so thoroughly continue to live? Neither of us say these things aloud. It would stress us more, lead to arguments. We're too tense now, to talk the politics of how the Legion could have survived. 

Halfway between us and Diamond City, dogs attack. We are quiet and ruthless, collect the meat and then move on in silence. I suppose that fight should have taken the edge off our anxieties. It should have let our excess energies out, but fighting dogs only crashes down memories of Legion arenas, battlefields washed with blood drying on desert sand. The night grows tenser, slowing time to a crawl of anxiety.

Dawn hits us as we arrive near Diamond City, and I stop Joshua with a small wave of my hand.

"I... we should get some rest, Joshua. We should be at least somewhat conscious when we warn them, and it wouldn't do to die of sloppy mistakes on the road."

Joshuas mouth twists, and I prepare myself for a drawn-out argument on wether we should rest or not, fueled by Joshua's desire to sacrifice himself for others. I say he gets the impulse from his scripture, he says he gets it because he must do right by others. The argument will just waste time, which might spawn another argument about the time wasted.

"Fine."

I give an internal sigh of release, and nod. We approach the gates. I buzz us in-Joshua and Six are a welcome sight in Diamond City, they say, after we've killed so many raiders and done so many odd jobs for them-and I can hear one of the guards explaining to a new one that Joshua isn't a ghoul as we enter the city. His burned skin and powerful voice turned heads, at first, but we've become well-integrated.

Diamond City Market is lonely so early in the morning, Takahashi standing steadfastly behind the Power Noodles counter, Percy floating in front of Diamond City Surplus. We take the first turn in the market, and I ignore the asshole at the table in front of the Dugout Inn, stepping inside. _This could all be ravaged by the Legion_, the thought forced into my head. I try to push it away, but can't fully get it out of my head. 

The thought is made worse by how the Dugout Inn reminds me of the small casinos like in Primm, just needing a few crappy slots machines to almost feel like home. Vadim is polishing glasses at the bar. He sees me, notices the look of anxiety on Joshua and I's face, and doesn't go to his usually jokey routine. I hand 10 caps to Yefim and head into room two without asking. Joshua stands stiffly in the doorway, and I sit awkwardly on the couch. My leg bounces nervously, and my exhaustion crashes in on me. 

I touch my scarf lightly before whispering in latin. "How... do you think, _they_, survived?"

Joshua shrugs, shutting the door lightly and sitting down gently on the bed. "There's no use in pondering it, Six. The Legion is here. There's nothing we can do but fight them."

I nod. "I-I'll take the couch, then."

* * *

We head out at noon, sun high in the sky and beating a hot warning down our necks. Sanctuary Hills can be found along the railroad tracks and roads from Diamond City, according to my Pip-Boy, and we should hopefully be there by 5:00. Radio Freedom plays tinnily from my Pip-Boy, but carries no new news of Legion Scouts. I can't think of which is worse-Legion being confident enough and active enough to be mentioned on the radio, or not knowing anything about what they're doing.

We pass up the railroad and pass through Greygarden, then cut along the road to Drumlin Diner, Concord, Red Rocket, and then the Minuteman statue at the end of the road, the bridge crests over our vision and ends at the high walls of the settlement. The walls are rusted metal, dipping into the river and showing off the buildings and markets inside. The general of the minutemen resides there, Nora Howard, our only hope.

"Almost reminds me of the Mojave."

I flinch at the sudden words, then laugh anxiously. "Of course. The glorious sand dunes, the batshit crazy geckos, and just tons of casinos everywhere."

Joshua lets himself laugh and shake his head, before he hardens his gaze again. "No, how established, and civilized, it is. It makes me think of NCR towns, of New Vegas, of every established society that existed in those deserts. I wonder if Lanius, if he's still there, if he's still there... if he'll be reminded as well. I wonder..."

Chills run down my spine, and I finish the sentence for him. "If he'll take his anger about the Mojave out on these people?"

Joshua nods, and I sigh. "I hope not. Lanius is so prideful... and the entirety of the Legion, including him, faced their greatest humiliation there. I know his brutality... I don't want to see him worse."

Joshua nods again, and sets a boot on the aching wood of the bridge. He adjusts his cowboy hat gently, and my adrenaline spiked yet again, forcing me to take a slow, even breath.

"Let's tell the Commonwealth about a certain pale horse, eh?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I mean to post every week or so, but I had finals and a regional competition for a play these last days. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and that it read well. If you find any errors or plotholes, or just interesting things you;ve thought of, please tell me!  
Kudos are well appreciated, and comments doubly so.
> 
> Additionally- Nora's last name is based off of the fact that the original default name for the Sole Survivor was Mr. Howard!


	3. And Behold, Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joshua and Six enter Sanctuary, seeking providence and knowledge. They meet with the fearsome Minutemen General.

Anxiety threads into my bones as we mount the bridge, a startling mix of 200-year-old wood and the newer wood patching it, slightly warped where it had once collapsed. The gates of Sanctuary are metal, slightly rusted and slightly warped from time. Two tall guard towers frame them, stern Minutemen staring down at us with cranking laser muskets in their hands and years of experience at their backs. I'm sure Joshua is thinking up some allegory to his heaven, the Sanctuary of his bible, tall gates and the vengeful seraphs framing it. And a long, long way down.

I see the warped metal and think only of Freeside, my once-home, the bodyguards and drug dealers framing the gates, the curses and boons that it held. Freeside was the start of my mistakes in the Mojave, the first place where philosophies and deaths were so closely weaved together. I couldn't think there, wasn't given enough time after my death and after Benny died to make the right decision. I feel a cold chill in my bones, and hold the hope close to my chest that I've learned from Zion and the Mojave from nine years ago, that I won't repeat my mistakes and retread my flaws.

The guards eye us, and I call up to them to quickly explain who we are (Two couriers of knowledge), what we know (About those 'Raiders'). I feel myself trembling, my knees shaky and my stomach a cold, uncomfortable stone. Joshua's hand is on my shoulder, and I feel the heat of his hand through my shirt above all else, and suddenly stabilized. I shove bitter Legion memories and a sickly swell of Mojave out of my mind, let the words pour out of my throat. I sit just outside of my body.

They decide to wave us in, the guard on the right giving us directions to the General's office. I nod, thank him. Joshua leads the way, easily navigating the crisscrossing dirt and gravel pathways. I spot farms, markets, and stables, and silently thank god that I'm no longer greeted by visions of Freeside. The shack greets us at the end of the road, sign reading "General" in big, spray-painted letters, metal walls in a wooden frame with a blue wood door. I step onto its buckling oak patio, look up at the awning formed by the second story, momentarily question its stability, momentarily question the stability of this entire organization, if they can truly help us, if we can really help them. If anything at all can really be done against the war machine that is The Legion.

And then I'm inside the building, back inside of myself, and I shove those thoughts aside. The first floor is a lobby, empty chairs lining either wall. A desk sits in front of the staircase, one of its legs broken off and replaced with a cinderblock, files stacked neatly in the middle, lamp on the left and cup of pencils on the right. A softspoken man and a ghoul, both in colonial wear, stand on either side of it, arguing.

"-oosen up a little! What's a _few_-"

"For the last time Hancock, no. You can see the General after hours, but I refuse to let you pester her, or try to get her high, while she's working."

Hancock, the ghoul, sputters angrily, slumps onto the desk, whines. He looks over the guy, eyes sliding to us, standing awkwardly near the door. A sly grin works its way onto his face as the guy follows his gaze.

"Back me up here, guys, help me with this dull brick of wood. Shouldn't I get to see my _close_ friend while she's working, say a quick hello?"

Joshua and I respond at the same time: "No." "Well, I mean, it depends."

Hancock slumps further onto the desk, knocking the stack of files over and rolling his eyes. The guy pushes him off the desk and walks around it, a friendly hand held out to us.

"Please ignore my... Friend here. I'm Preston Garvey, Second-in-Command of the Minutemen Army. How can I help you?"

We each shake his hand, and Hancock slumps out of the room unhappily.

Joshua speaks for me, "I am Joshua Graham and this is Six. We have news on the, ah, raiders you saw earlier and reported on in Radio Freedom."

Garvey brightens and opens his mouth to speak, but boots walking down the creaking wooden stairs catch his attention. Brown boots and pants reveal themselves first, then a blue Minuteman coat and blonde hair cast back into a tight ponytail, piercingly green eyes, and the smallest curve of a smile. We are face to face with the Minutemen General, and I come to attention on instinct. Joshua straightens beside me, no attention needed, he was high ranking.

We drop our stances after only a second, and I can see the fear in Joshua's usually calm eyes. Too many memories left discarded, the realization we hadn't healed half as much as we thought.

I hold out my hand to her. "Gene-"

She holds a hand up. "I heard what you said about the raiders from upstairs-This place ain't exactly well insulated. Come on, come up to my office." Garvey half-waves at her and she smiles at him, and then we follow her, single-file, up the thin stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for long time between posting, school's been super hectic. I'll probably be posting more often, maybe reaching my goal of updating every Thursday or Friday.  
Kudos and Comments always super appreciated, and thank you for reading!


	4. Trapped in Yesterday and Lost in Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six tells the General of the following doom, and falls back onto old habits.

The General's office is a large desk, three office chairs, and a few overflowing bookcases.  A screen door leads to the balcony that sits over the porch, and  I wonder  if she uses it for announcements into the courtyard outside .

She shakes our hands, introduces herself as Nora, and takes a seat at her desk. She motions for us to sit across from her. "I'm glad you guys came in-I've  been worried  about those raiders, and it's been a slow day."

I nod, and take my rawhide off, revealing the two tight scars on the right side of my head that make me  partially  bald and the tiniest bit deaf . Two 9mm's from a bastard in an eye-destroying ugly suit tends to do that to you, not that I plan on telling Nora that story.

Nora whistles. "Those raiders come first, but I have to know about that scar." I sigh  internally , and she rustles through the desk drawers, pulling out a battered file and a pencil nub. She looks up at us and half grins. "Gotta keep records, y'know?"

We nod, and I begin.  "These raiders, they're called The Legion, and  are based  almost completely off of 'Ancient Roman' culture  . The head guy, Caesar, died a while back of a brain tumor, and we're pretty sure the new Caesar is a ruthless man named Lanius. There's no talking or negotiating with him, only death or surrender.  He was the Legate for a while, the second in command, and once ordered an underperforming squad to  mercilessly  slaughter part of itself to punish it ."

Joshua adds, "They're from the South, Mojave and further down, from places like the Grand Canyon. They're conquerers of more than a hundred tribes, and ruthless.  They keep women as slaves, and men as soldiers, kill or brainwash or crucify those who dissent against their power . They are nigh unstoppable and trained from youth to be killers, but have a multitude of flaws."

When she stops writing, she frowning and her brows are furrowed in concentration. She taps her chin with her pencil. "And these flaws are...?"

I turn to look at Joshua, he'll know better than me, he should talk, and he nods. "Lanius is barbarous and without morals, sacrificing anything, even his own soldiers to further his cult of personality. The Legion, as we knew it nine years ago, was not allowed any guns or healing items, though that may have changed under Lanius, who has no allegiance to old morals or the tradition of the last Caesar."

"And, I don't know if this'll be useful, but they tend to speak Latin." I pipe up.

The General writes for a minute, and sets her pencil down. "This information is... nice and all, but how do the two of you know all this? Their history, their weaknesses, almost everything about them?"

I tense and look down, embarrassed, and Joshua puts a sturdy hand on my shoulder, anchoring me. "We... were among their ranks at one point, but have since attempted to wash our hands of sin."

I look up. "Back in the Mojave... it was a three way war between a capitalist megalomaniac, a failing overstretched government that overtaxed its citizens and overburdened itself, and the ruthless Legion. Even if they kept women as slaves, killed those they deemed bad, and tortured those they deemed deserving, they had roads that were safe from raiders and other scumbags, towns safe from terrorists. They had brought peace to every land they had conquered, even if afterwards that land was stained with blood."

I stare into her eyes pleadingly, and half notice the softness that lies in the cracks there, crows feet and small worry lines etched into her face. "The Legion was our only shot in the dark during a troubled time. But we ran away instead of dealing with the mistakes we had made. And now... we want to help you, to set things right."

She makes a slight face, nods. " Six, we've all had to face troubled decisions and times. I won't judge the two of you, not yet, and I'll thank you for your information." She sets her file to the side, starts to sharpen her pencil with a short knife absentmindedly.

"I... please stay in Sanctuary for a while, I need you guys as my men on the inside. This is... this is a high war alert, I need to talk to some people."

* * *

Preston leads us to two free beds in Sanctuary, and we unpack what little stuff we brought along. Joshua sets into his scripture, praying and reading and clutching those hand-carved beads of his. Follows Chalk or another Dead Horse had carved them for him, give them to him as a final parting gift.

I find a small shed on the edge of town, settle against the warm metal outside, and let a mentat dissolve on my tongue. Back in the Great Green Jewel, there was a flourishing chem trade-and I was stealthy enough to leave and come back well before Joshua ever awoke. I had gotten a tin with ten mentats rattling around in it for my troubles, hopefully enough to last me a month or so.

The mentats are a habit I picked up while sniping. They steady you and increase your focus on the target, center you in the heat of battle, with fifteen enemies coming for your nest from all directions, with a well-thrown grenade at your feet. When people's lives depend on yours and you can't fuck up, can't have a misstep or a fucked-up bullet.

It became where sometimes, that steadiness was needed outside of battle, when things moved too fast and the world was too loud, or where those explosions and unsteadiness followed me outside of battle. And it became where mentats started tasting better and better. It wasn't an addiction, not really, but a small habit I had to deal with from time to time. It's not an addiction. It's never an addiction.

I lean my head back against the dented tin, let the high and slight fruity flavor wash over me. I tip my rawhide over my face and breath, in and out, deep and slow. No need to think about Arcade, or Raul, or the Kings and the Followers and the Atomic Wrangler, Rex and everyone else who were cast aside like trash. Destroyed like detritus by harsh ocean waves when the Legion rolled like a tsunami over New Vegas and the rest of the Mojave. And here, I lived on, thinking in metaphors I half understood, with nary a hill to die on.

_Just float on the high, Six_, I think to myself. _It's been nearly a decade, and look at you, you're still mourning. Still getting high in pathetic attempts to escape your problems._

A cool shadow passes over me, breaks the hot stream of my high through my consciousness. A hoarse voice speaks, "You're that kid from Nora's office, right?"

I slip my hat down onto my chest, squint up at him through the glare of the afternoon sun. Although he isn't technically wrong in calling me kid, considering how young I am, I still feel a twinge of annoyance in my chest. "Eh... Hancock, right?"

His face unwinds into a lazy grin, and he nods. He leans against the metal to my right, then slumps and slides down to sit beside me. He pops a grape mentat into his mouth, lets it dissolve for a second. "So... how long you been in the 'Wealth? Not often I don't know people, especially people I have... So much in common with." He bumps his worn mentats tin with mine, quirks a friendly eyebrow.

_He's probing me for information,_ I think through the haze of my high, _He's heard from Nora what I know, wants to know more, can be that casual, friendly face._ I sort of shrug. "Four, maybe five years. Joshua and I-we made a point to not really be seen anywhere, just live in peace. Our farm was really all we needed, and I, well, raiders drop all kinds of useful drugs, mentats included."

He nods, lights a cigarette, takes a drag, and offers it to me. I shake my head. Smoking was never really my thing, and especially not after fleeing the Mojave, where it seemed everyone had a nicotine addiction. 

We sit in silence for a while, both of our highs slowly weaning off, Hancock's cigarette slowly whittling down to a nub.

Hancock doesn't seem like he'd slit my throat, even more so because Nora needs my information, so I close my eyes again, let my mind wander. What work needs to be done in camp? What odd jobs will I have to do to prove myself to Nora, the busywork I've come to associate every faction with. Will the radstag and wild dog meat we brought with us be enough to last us, will Joshua or I have to hunt again?

Hancock speaks up again, putting out whats left of his cigarette on the tin. "That's one hell of a scar, cowboy."

I nod, sitting up. "It's one hell of a story, too, and I need to be somewhere else."

I get up, shake his hand, and leave for Nora's office. Joshua and I need jobs and food, and she's the head of this place, after all.

Anyways, who needs to think of their massive head injuries, or their pasts, forgotten and remembered, when there's work to be done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to my close friend for that badass chapter name!!!  
Two updates in one week?? Possible?? Apparently!  
I'm begging you guys to give me kudos and comments-Comment anything, literally.


	5. Nightmares and Barhopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six has his first day at work, maybe makes a new friend.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Teeth pulling

I steady myself against the counter, lean into the dirt smudged mirror. My finger comes to press against my cheek, pressing against the skin there, checking how I look. My jagged nails just barely poke into my skin, but I lessen the pressure anyways.

Boone calls to me from the other room, “C’mon Six, it's time to head out!”

I call back, peel my lip down to see my teeth. “Just hold up a minute, Boone! We’ve got time!”

My other hand comes up with a plier, gets a firm grip on my lower front teeth, pulling out. They clink into the millenia-old sink, and my finger moves down to pull my mouth open further. I move precisely, slowly work my way down my jaw, and then start on the top row. 

All I can hear is my slow, methodical breathing, heavy and filling my head. My eyes shut, and when I open them, Arcade is there, white gloves, hands in my mouth, the taste of dusty latex. Blinding light all around me, I’m floating in a void. He works slowly and efficiently with his pliers.

He’s saying something about how I need to take better care of myself, something about the Legion. Heavy, hot cotton fills my head, the sound of my teeth clicking on metal the only thing breaking the buzzing silence.

  
  


I sit up, panting, and shove the threadbare cotton blankets off of my legs. Joshua looks up from where he’s washing his face, bare chested with a bowl of cold water resting in his lap. He sets his washcloth gently to the side, wipes his face off with a bit of dry blanket. 

“Bad dreams, Six?”

I shrug. It didn’t hurt, it was painful it was just… “I dunno. Weird, at the very least.”

He nods knowingly and turns back to patting his burns, nods towards my Pip-Boy on the nightstand. “I’d check the time if I were you, you have to be at the guard tower by nine, right?”

I nod, set my feet gently on the floor. I feel unsteady, unstable today. I’ll get over it, or have a mentat to calm my nerves after lunch. I lean down, pull my socks and boots on, grab my Boy and serape. My button up and jeans are slung over the chair in the corner, and I get dressed slowly, trying to give myself time to get grounded. Joshua has turned and grabbed his prayer beads, doing his morning prayers.

I grab my rifle off the rack on the wall, sling it over my shoulder, slip my knife and its sheath on my belt. I open the door, turn back and look at Joshua. He’s kneeling near the window, looking up and out of it. My heart aches that we couldn’t fix this before.

It’s only eight or so, but I figure I can use my extra hour mapping out Sanctuary. I know Joshua should be in the medical ward, or tent, the General had agreed to that yesterday per my request.

I didn’t mind sniping, or guarding-It came to me naturally. But Joshua had put aside violence after Salt Upon Wounds. It made travelling hard, and we got some weird looks, but it was something he stood by. It was something he _ had _ to stand by. Animals and hunting were different, but humans? No way. 

This time of day, the farmers are slowly streaming out of their houses and into the fields. Some houses are stacked, some on stilts. The sun just barely peeks over the metal fence, the jagged edges highlighted in the morning mist.

The town is centered around the general's office and house, a courtyard just outside the doorstep. A few bars surround it, other various shops spiraling out from there. The medical center is behind Nora’s place, a wide rock path making its way up to the clinic, which is a mixture of tents and wooden houses. A few doctors and patients mill around the area, and I turn back to the main one. 

There’s three towers along the wall, and a single gate that I know leads back to the bridge. 

My clock reads three quarters past eight, and I start on my way to the tower closest to the gate-that was the one Nora had pointed me to, said some guy named MacCready would help me get started.

The tower is twenty feet tall, maybe taller._ I don’t exactly have good height perception _, I think to myself as I scale the tower. There’s a skinny guy at the top, leaning against the railing, rifle set on the table beside him. I rap gently on the side of the nest, and he jumps, spins around. He looks like a rat-Thin goatee, thin face, sharp eyes. Not bad, per say, just startling. I give him a half smile in return for scaring him, bring myself the rest of the way up onto the platform and reach out to shake his hand.

“Hey, I’m Six, the new guy?”

MacCready sighs, catches his breath. “Hey. Don’t sneak up on me again, okay?” He shakes my hand, turns back to surveying the groups below. “There’s not much to learn, honestly. You just kinda sit up here, keep watch. If there’s raiders, one of us runs down and tells Nora. Ain’t much else about it.” 

I nod, and look over his rifle. It's a good make, sturdy, nice scope, well worn. The rest of the table had been hidden by the gun, some fruit, a comic or two, a small pair of binoculars that had been duct-taped over and half-heartedly repaired several times. 

MacCready slaps me on the shoulder, grabs his rifle and comics. “I’ll leave my binoculars and food with you, but for now, I’m on break.” He steps down onto the ladder, gives me a half-hearted thumbs up. “Good luck!”

I don’t know if I like him, but I set into my shift. Most of it is silence, our eyes or our scopes trailing the horizon. Hours drip by slowly, the sun inches over the sky. 

At five, our shift is over and the nighttime watch takes over. MacCready says his goodbyes, and I head for Joshua, thoughts of keeping watch with Raul heavy in my mind.

Joshua is, ironically enough, working on a burn patient. A lady with a surprisingly thick accent is talking with him about how he treated his burns, marking things down on a clipboard, comparing how he treated himself and how the guy sitting on the table with the burned arm has been healing. 

I wave to him from behind the cloth flap into the hut, and he smiles thinly and waves back at me. He finishes up with her, comes out to meet me. “How are you, Six?”

I shrug. “Kept watch for eight hours. Not super intense.” I laugh. “How was yours?”

He smiles quietly. “The lady in there, Curie, she used to be a Handy-style robot. Got a new synth body a while back, that’s where she got her accent and medicinal knowledge from!”

I nod. “That’s pretty cool. Dinner?”

He agrees and I lead the way back to our little hut, set out some of the dog meat from our walk and some mutfruit from our farm. We eat in relative silence, the quiet chatter from outside drifting inwards, the crow’s caws echoing off the walls. Dinner has always been my least favorite meal of the day-Always the hungriest, always the most tired, always brings with it a vague sense of foreboding that the night multiplies on to.

A small rap at the wooden door startles us, and I get up to greet whoever’s there. It’s Hancock, leaning against the door, smiling lopsidedly and twirling a joint-cigarette?-in one hand. “Hey Six, hear your shifts up?”

Joshua looks at him from around me, furrows his brow and finishes up eating. He starts shuffling through his bag, back turned to me.

I know Joshua doesn’t like people like Hancock, or me hanging out with them, thinks they’ll lead me on a path to sin. He underestimates how much I sin already, how far astray I’ve already led myself. I focus on Hancock.

“Yeah? Does the General need me or something?”

He chuckles when I call Nora her official title, shrugs. “Dunno. Don’t care. Thought we might have a fun time, maybe paint the town red?” He looks down at himself and laughs. “Or as red as ghoul blood can get, really.”

I laugh with him and shrug. “I guess.”

I grab A Light Shining in Darkness from the table, holster it on my right hip for an easy draw. I don my serape and rawhide again, head out with Hancock. Joshua's disappointment trails like a dark cloud behind me.

The bar isn’t very busy yet. A bored-looking lady stands at the bar, head down and writing in a worn black notebook. She looks up when we step onto the worn wood, frowns at Hancock and smiles at me. “Hey, welcome to the Lizard’s Nest, the home of the Sanctuary Tribune by day, bar by night!”

I smile thinly back at her. “Six, man by day, man by night.” She laughs, starts to wipe down the bar, and sets out two glasses for us.

Hancock slides into a seat and tries to make some small talk with her. She begrudgingly serves him, ignores his attempts at conversation. I sit down next to Hancock, and she serves me as well, moving out of Hancock’s radius as quickly as possible.

I nudge Hancock. “She seems to really like you, huh?”

He laughs, takes a sip from his chipped beer glass. “That’s Piper. Strong morals, stronger head, even stronger personality. Her tribune is the best source of gossip and happenings you can find, but she’s too tight laced for me.”

I nod, make a note of the tribune in my head, make another note that I need to write that down in my Pip-Boy later. I bring out my mentats tin and let two dissolve on my tongue, take a swig of cheap wine. The dinner of champions, right? I think for a moment, lazily survey the bar around me.

“So, what information are you trying to press me for?”

Hancock takes a swig of beer out of the corner of his mouth, eyes me. “Wow, you don’t pull punches, huh?”

I shake my head and shrug. “I guess not. Don’t think it's the best habit, is all.”

He sips his beer, thinks for a second. “Well, I guess I wanna know about that badass scar on your head.” He points to his head at roughly the same spot my scar is at, and I look down into my wine.

“Not really a ‘New friend’ sorta conversation, I guess. Maybe a different question with that level interrogation next?”

He laughs and agrees. “Okay, okay. What about your age, then? Gotta be an old-timer, what with that army after you and everything.”

I snort. “The Legion isn’t after  _ me _ , they’re just fucking psycopaths. But I’m not very old, just twenty five.”

He gapes at me. “Twenty five? Holy shit kid! I’m like fifty! You’re a baby!”

I shake my head, laugh and drink some wine. “Packed  _ way _ too much living into those years, though.”

Hancock nods. “Seems everyone does. Live too many years in too few, you think it makes up for dying young.” I think for a moment, and he continues. “You can’t live like everything is the last thing, or else you’re gonna run out of time too soon.”

I nod. There’s not much too say, it’s just a hard truth. We turn back to the bar, drink for a few minutes. 

“Sorry if I killed the mood there, I sometimes make the mistake of getting all philosophical on people.”

I shake my head. “No! It’s fine! Just, hard to know what to say sometimes.”

He nods. “Wanna just while the night away, get shitfaced, and regret it later?”

I agree to that, order more drinks on me. We while the night away, exchange stories about who we are, and drink a few drinks. I tell him about the Mojave, he tells me about his childhood in Diamond City. We compare friends, drugs, and laugh. 

I make a new friend for the first time in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating sooner! Finals are around now, so I've been caught up.  
Kudos and comments always wanted!  
Also, I based the dream off of this link: https://www.teethfallingoutdream.org/pulling-out-teeth-dream/


	6. Heartache and Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six fucked up last night, has a mental breakdown, makes a healthy meal.

I wake up with a killer headache and the feeling of Joshua’s silent disapproval pressing against my back. I roll over and slap my Pip-Boy haphazardly to silence my alarm, groan. Joshua gives me the benefit of not saying anything. _ Silent judgement _ , I muse as I grab a bowl for some water from the pump outside, _ I can work with that _.

Outside, it's chilly and a little wet. I’m half sure it’ll rain, and I adjust my plans for the day the best I can in my head while trying to ignore the headache. I hurry my way into our shack and slump into the chair across from Joshua, headache pounding behind my eyes, water sloshing in the bowl as it comes to rest on the table. He clears his throat, and I groan internally.

“Morning, Joshua.”

He passes me a rag. “Good morning, Six. Eventful night?”

I curl in on myself a bit, grab the rag and start to wash my face. “Er… yeah. You?”

He sort of shrugs, goes back to reading his scripture. The room is frosty, and as much as my hangover is killing me, I want to go. I think about talking, but leave it be. He’ll get over it, or talk to me, or let it simmer until it fades like always happens. He needs to work through his anger at me, and in general, and I’m not sure I can always help him. I rush through the rest of my morning ritual, and as I grab my rifle on the way out, he speaks up. 

“Meeting with the General at 6:00 tonight. Don’t be late Six, please.”

I nod, shoulder my rifle and slide my knife into my sheath. “I won’t be, Joshua. This is too important for that.”

_ He should know that _ , I think bitterly. _ I’m not gonna let myself give anything more to the Legion, not a single postponed meeting, not a single night over us. They can’t win this time._

* * *

Work is a miserable crawl of silent guilt and anger crawling like black beetles over me while I scan the horizon. I know Joshua’s worried about me. I know he wants the best for me. He thinks I’m gonna go back to addiction, instead of facing the Legion like I always do. _ Poor Six, always running away _. I grit my teeth, focus on looking for any figures in the trees. And maybe I take a mentat, to help me calm down.

At lunch, I pass my shift to MacCready, and sit at the base of the tower. I don’t feel hungry, my headache has mostly disappeared, and all my emotions have faded into a gray mist, blanketing over my mind. I feel an empty sort of between everything, like I’ve been knocked off balance. I tip my rawhide over my face and lean against the corrugated metal wall. 

I’m not that Six anymore, not the coward who fled the Mojave, who helped Joshua as only a last-ditch attempt, not the Six who put a thousand miles between himself and his friends and then drowned himself in whiskey and mentats to run from his grief. I won’t back down this time, I can’t. With the Legion this far north, there’s nowhere left to run, even if I wanted to.

I take a steadying breath.

I’m not that Six anymore, never will be again.

I don my rawhide again, and squint up into the sun to see Hancock standing over me, leaning on his hip in that cocky way of his, crooked smile. “Hey, Six. Drinks tonight, on me?”

My chest clenches and I shake my head, ignoring his extended hand in favor of helping myself up. “I-,” I think for a second, busy myself with adjusting my belt. “I’m fine. Maybe later, I could, I guess.”

He opens his mouth to say something but I’m already on the ladder, his eyes boring into my back. I silently curse myself for accidentally skipping eating. I shouldn’t have let myself slip up like that.

MacCready sort of cocks an eyebrow when I bring myself up onto the small wooden platform, looking back over his shoulder at me. I shrug at him and he turns back to his scope, muttering something to himself. I can tell he overheard my conversation with Hancock, that he’s thinking on it, but I shove that fact down and focus on the horizon. I shouldn’t be trying to make friends here, I’ll hurt them or get them caught up in my downward spirals.

Staring at the horizon seems more and more futile the longer it goes on, a blurry line of rocks and trees and buildings smudging together. I feel like I’ll never see anyone, give half a thought to entertain the idea that the Legion might not be coming hot into the Commonwealth. I shove that down along with everything else, no way in hell Joshua and I misinterpreted that broadcast.

The sun starts to slip down the horizon, beginning to tint the world pink. And then, shadows in the light of the dying sun, three figures appear, hazy on the horizon and moving fast. I spot the Legion standards strapped to one’s back, see the others with their guns and their sharp eyes, and fuck, they can see me, can’t they, they know Joshua and I are in the Mojave, they know about us, they’re coming here to tear us apart and burn us alive, I haven’t got a chance in hell, fuck, what am I thinking, thinking that I can take on the Legion? I’m delusional, I don’t even have the strength to crawl my way out of a mentats tin, I didn’t have anything, nothing, nothing, I can’t...

My vision goes blurry and I slump down to the wooden floor, close my eyes and slip my rifle onto the planks, taking rough, shaky breathes. My forehead presses against the cool wood, and I try not to let the harsh ringing in my ears overwhelm me.

MacCready curses next to me and crouches down next to me. “F-Frick! Six, hey, hey, you good man? What’s going on?”

I press the palms of my hands to my eyes, shaking my head. “Fucking Legion. Tell the General. Nora. Whatever.”

He half hesitates and I push him away, saying something about urgency, not quite sure what words are falling from my mouth. I turn back to my scope once he’s down the ladder, anxiety and fear boiling in my gut. After a moment, I find the Vexillarius and two scouts. They’re closer now, and they're following the roads, and one of them in pointing in different directions. 

_ They don’t know you’re here _ , I tell myself firmly. _ They’re not here for you, but you’ve got to fight anyways, can’t collapse like that in battle, Six. You’ve got to be _ strong _ , Six _. 

I hear the ladder creaking and flinch, then chide myself mentally again. MacCready brings himself up into the nest first, followed by the General. She’s holding his binoculars, her eyes creased, and she tells me to show her where they are.

I tell her and she follows them with her binoculars for a moment. I hesitate, and then ask, “Should I shoot them?”

She thinks for a moment, mulls it over. “Not yet. They don’t know we know about them, not yet. They think they have the element of surprise, and they’ll try to use that, and we won’t show our hand yet.”

I nod. I don’t think she’s right, but my mind is already clouded with fear, and she has a fair point. I turn back to watch them, and after a bit, she leaves. After another hour, the scouts turn back over the horizon, and I follow them as long as I can, hoping for an intangible _ something _. 

When our shift ends, MacCready trails me, and I let him. He obviously wants to talk, and who am I to stop him? He pulls me into a small alleyway, and for the first time, I recognize the genuine worry on his face.

A wave of shame crashes over me again, and I'm chiding myself, I should’ve been able to read MacCready better, shouldn’t have been such an ass to him when I told him to get Nora.

“Six, look. I don’t know you, but you seem okay enough. I mean, Nora likes you, so. But, are you okay? You looked really fu-freaking spooked today, when you saw those ‘Legion’ guys or whatever.”

I shrug, cross my arms in a feeble attempt to stabilize myself. “You live through some shit things, y’know? And when that shit comes crawling back, it just, you, you collap-”

MacCready cuts me off. “I get it. Don’t worry, Six, I get it. Just… have a drink or something, okay?”

I nod and stumble out of the alleyway, and take a moment standing in the road to just breath, to center myself, to remind myself that I’m okay, for now. I have Joshua, and I have the backing of the General, and that should be enough. We should be enough.

I start down the road, and the first step out of stillness feels impossibly hard, feels like I'll fall and fail at any moment. I head for my shack, I’ll grab and early dinner, I'll try to talk with Joshua, and if I can't do that, I'll try and think of a way to finally fix the malfunctions in my shit brain. 

* * *

Joshua is still at the infirmary when I get back, so I set out two bowls and two cans of purified water, grab some molerat meat, jalapeñoes, and carrots from my back, and find the cooking station in the main courtyard. Cooking calms me, always has, and a peace offering to Joshua can’t do any harm. 

I grab a pan and start chopping and adding ingredients, pulling a plate off of a stack with a sign reading ‘_ Wash after use + return! Thank you!’ _ My Pip-Boy says the time is only 5:00, and I cross my fingers that Joshua won’t head straight for the meeting or skip going to the shack.

I watch as the molerat steaks cook. The jalapeñoes were from our farm, planted with what seeds we had accidentally brought from the Mojave. They were a hit or miss with me- Sometimes the taste of home would comfort me, sometimes it would send my crying on Joshua’s shoulder for the night. But Joshua loved the taste, sometimes I even caught him eating them whole. I only felt a twinge of regret we hadn’t brought agave or melon gourd, so sweet and juicy. 

As I plate the steaks and soft carrots and wrinkled jalapeñoes, I feel a twinge of homesickness. I’d kill for a hot Mojave day, to see geckos and eat gecko again, the casinos and the smoke and the people, the _ people _, Julie Farkas and the King and Raul and Arcade and, and. I cut off my thoughts and hurry back home.

Now isn’t the time to get overwhelmed by them.

Joshua, luckily, is on his bunk when I get home, and I set the steaks and vegetables into our respective bowls. He quirks an eyebrow at me, taps his pencil against his worn notebook. I shrug and motion for him to sit across from me, which he obliges. 

“I, well, I was a bit of an ass this morning. I figured I could make dinner, as a sort of peace offering. I… I don’t want to fight with you, Joshua. I wanna be happy.” I look down at the table nervously, fiddle with my fork.

Joshua thinks for a second. “I was also rude, Six. I should have been able to talk with you, but instead I stewed and took things out on you. Let’s just eat dinner, talk, go to the meeting with Nora.”

I nod and look up at him, smiling. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like to eat. I don’t like fighting with you, I should be stronger than I was, should’ve been able to stop myself from landing in a bottle of whiskey again.”

He nods and we start on our molerat, talking slowly about our days, a bit of the tension dissolved. Joshua tells me about the guy in a ‘ton of pain’ today, constantly changing strategies and symptoms, trying for med-x. I tell him about how MacCready almost accidentally fell off the ladder today, about how beautiful the sunset looks from up there. We both comment on how lucky we are it didn’t rain today, just as a small drizzle starts.

I poke my head out the window to look up at the grey clouds, thank whoever’s up there that it isn’t a radstorm.

Maybe the meeting with the General won’t be so bad after all, maybe we have a snowball’s chance in hell in this impending war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for bearing with me! This fic means a lot to me but alas motivation is a strange beast. Also I got the flu on Christmas. I'll try to update more often, I really want to!  
Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated, please tell me if I've fucked up on anything!
> 
> Sidenote: I live in the US and with the situation with Iran a lot of my anxiety about war will probably flow over into Six's worries.


	7. Unknown Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six and Joshua meet with Nora and Preston to solidify what they're truly going to do to find where the Legion are, and what they'll do what they find out. Not many solutions are met.

General Howard is already with Preston when Joshua and I arrive, her desk pushed to the middle of the small upstairs so they can spread a map out on it. The map is being held down by scattered half-drunk Gwinnett Stouts and dirty plates, and when we get close enough to see it well, I feel a twinge of jealousy. It looks like it’s worth a small fortune, made from soft looking tanned Brahmin leather, every minute detail carefully drawn in black ink. From what I recall from looking at my Pip-Boy map so often, there’s almost no inaccuracies.

They both look up when we step from the stairs into the office, our boots creaking the old wood. Nora raises a hand in greeting and we return it, coming to stand across the desk from them. I have a feeling that Joshua won’t be saying much about strategy for a good bit, stuck in a glaze of contemplation and strategy. He had fallen into it when I had told him about the scouting party on the way here, but I know he’ll rise out of it soon enough to take action. He always does, with some inventive new strategy or plan rising from the black mist of his mind. 

Nora makes some room for us, pushing aside some of the clutter on the table and putting a few of the emptier bottles into a small cooler in the corner. “I’m glad the two of you made it on time. Preston and I are trying to figure out where the Legion is coming from, and if they’re anywhere nearby.”

Preston shifts where he’s at and points at one of the larger settlements detailed on the map, marked carefully as _ Sanctuary _ in exacting, slanted cursive. “This is us. Every scouting mission we’ve spotted from the Legion has come from south or southwest of us. That’s going to be our prospective search area, if we can confirm that’s where they’re coming from. We started to send word to other settlements further south yesterday, and although word has yet to reach us, we know that the scout to Diamond City should come back in,” He takes a moment to think it over, “Four, maybe five days.”

He pauses to let us think, and glances over at Nora, who’s sipping contemplatively on her Gwinnett. I glance back down to the map to check what he’s saying. There’s a few settlements closer than Diamond City, like Abernathy Farm or Sunset Tidings, but their marked population is so much smaller than either of theirs to be very comparable in terms of influence. They’re less likely to have caught the notice of Legionaries, less likely to have as strict a lookout. Part of me wonders if Lanius will try to take the smaller cities first, if they’ll be sufficient to serve his cult of personality, or if he’ll go for the throat first and leave the remaining limbs to rot in his shadow.

_ There’s no time for useless hypotheticals _, I remind myself, and push the boiling anxiety back into the pit of my stomach.

Joshua clears his throat and gently places one hand on the map. “And what are you planning if the Legion is confirmed to be scouting the Commonwealth?”

Nora sets her bottle aside on the floor and motions to the incomplete map of the areas west of Sanctuary. “We started mapping this way as well a little while ago, but haven’t gotten very far. If other settlements confirm the direction Legion scouts are coming from, we’ll send several scouting teams to investigate. We’ll be shooting blind, but I’ve got a good friend who specializes in recon stuff, and has people he can probably contact in these areas for leads. I’ll set him up in charge of the scouting teams, they’d report to him, he’d report to me, and we could decide further action from there.”

She finishes speaking and the four of us stand over the map, considering what we do know and have marked down, possible strategies depending on where they could be camped out, ins and outs that may exist that aren’t shown in black on the leather.

Preston leans over and makes a sweeping motion over the mostly unmapped southeast. “Once we’ve determined where the Legion are, and we know, _ for sure _ , that they need to be dealt with… Nearly every person in the Commonwealth is tied to the Minutemen in one way or another-Railroad through Nora, major towns from trade and protection, other settlements because we’ve founded or defended them on more than one occasion.” He sighs and rubs his face with one hand. “We have what it takes _ if _ it’s required, General.”   
I almost want to laugh at his blind naivete. There’s none of that, with the Legion. No hesitation, no fear, no doubt. That’ll only kill you. He keeps saying _ if _, as if there’s any ‘if’ about fighting the Legion, as if you could find peace with them or come to an agreement with Lanius.

The rest of the meeting is fast-Covering a few what-if situations, and exchanging our goodbyes. Nora thanks us for listening and assures us we should talk to her if we have any thoughts or doubts.

We start down the path to our shack, the cool night air embracing us and carrying the far-off chirps of bloatflies. Inside, Joshua sets aside our plates for washing later, and our canteens for refilling with purified water. I start to check and clean my rifle, and as Joshua begins to lay out his clothes for the next talk, he talks.

“Are you going to be okay, Six?”

I look up from my rifle. His back is turned to me, methodically folding his button up on top of his SLCPD vest, leaving on his white t-shirt, and under that, his temple garment. “I… What are you getting at, Joshua?”

He sighs and turns to look at me, his long face twisted in worry. “Six, I know you struggle greatly. With addiction, with grief, with ghosts that refuse to let go of you, and that you refuse to let go of. I do not want you to return to drink and gambling and drugs to escape the things you don’t want to focus on. There is salvation for us all yet, Six, you need only want for it and work towards it.”

He walks over to me and places a hand, heavy and hot, onto my shoulder, trying his hardest to ground me so I won’t float away from this conversation. _ I won’t, _ I scold myself, force myself to buck up. _ I can’t spend my entire life sinking away from everything I don’t want to deal with. _

“I care for you greatly, Six. You can talk to me.”

I nod and stand, pulling Joshua into a tight hug. “I- You mean a lot to me, Joshua. I wouldn’t risk us, especially not-” I cut myself off and squeeze him tighter before letting go. He can probably finish my thought for me- _ Especially not after what happened last time. _

He nods and turns back to his clothes, looking back at me every so often. I finish with my rifle and step out onto our porch, craving cold, fresh air. It’s quiet out, and I let myself get calm down enough to take in the sounds that come from Sanctuary-People talking, the quiet buzz of Travis’ voice over Diamond City Radio, a few bottles clinking and fires fizzling every now and then.

Out here, it’s so peaceful most of the time, and although everyone can shoot, and is strong, and gets enough sleep at night, especially after the Minutemen reestablished themselves, they aren’t prepared. Raiders are one thing. They’re known. They’re unorganized, for the most part. They’re ruthless but also cowardly and stupid.

Raiders are a flea in comparison with the Legion, a huge hulking beast capable of insurmountable destruction that few can match. Maybe, if the Brotherhood or maybe even the Institute had remained intact, the Commonwealth would’ve had a fighting chance.

But ragtag, untrained teams like the Minutemen and the Railroad?

It seems as if the Legion could swallow them whole and churn out a clean slab of blackened land in their wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the huge stretch of time between this and the last chapter! I've been swamped with being crew for a musical, finals, and a ton of other stuff. I hope this was enjoyable, and that you guys don't mind my gratuitous use of italics.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> Sidenote: travel times will all be based on the assumption that Sanctuary is located somewhere around Loudon, NH. This is assumed because of how close to Concord you are at the beginning, but if you know of a more accurate location, please tell me!


	8. I'm Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eheh please don't be mad

This is kind of here because I don't think I'll be able to muster the energy to finish this anytime soon, and I'm not sure if it's even worth salvaging (Sorry to anyone who cares about this fic, if you exist). This chapter will most likely be the end, just because I don't think anyone who's genuinely interested in how this ends deserves to be left hanging. Some plotpoints:  
\- Lanius is in charge of the Legion  
\- Graham would 100% die at one point but I wasn't certain where  
\- Guns and guerilla warefare are now fully allowed, because Lanius doesn't really have any connection to maintaining that part of the Legion, as I see it  
\- Vulpes would be alive but as a slave bc I think he and Lanius would hate each other and Lanius would want to humiliate him  
\- Six would develop a crush on Deacon, have some help getting over that Internalized Homophobia, and he and Deacon would end out just being friends  
\- Nora was 50/50 on whether she'd die or not, but Preston would be devastated in some way.

If anyone genuinely wanted this to continue, I'm sorry, but I just have no motivation left. Finding Hope will probably be updated soon and hopefully finished (I'm expecting it'll be done after five or six chapters total), and I will upload other works, but this just wasn't really worth it anymore. I guess I just didn't want anyone to be stuck wondering what happened.


End file.
